As It Should Be
by DebbieB
Summary: Rowena Ravenclaw suffers a crisis of faith on the eve of that all important decision of whether to allow Muggle-born students at Hogwarts. HelgaRowena femmeslash.


Title: As It Should Be  
Author: MinervaFan  
Fandom: Harry Potter  
Words: 4,801  
Rating: Mild R for sexual references  
Pairing: Helga Hufflepuff/Rowena Ravenclaw  
A/N: Written for the Sapphichp ficathon. celticrain's challenge.  
Summary: Rowena Ravenclaw suffers a crisis of faith on the eve of that all important decision of whether to allow Muggle-born students at Hogwarts. Helga/Rowena femmeslash.

_You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago - the precise date is uncertain - by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses were named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution." -- Professor Binns _

Dusk was pushing its way to darkness when she heard the sound of riders approaching the castle. Helga, Mistress of Hufflepuff and teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, looked up from the spinners she had spelled, a forest of wooden spindles each creating thread fine enough to fetch a king's ransom in trade. She did not stop her work, although she now heard the sound of runners, calling that the party had arrived from the portkey and the gates must be opened.

No. There would be time for greetings and welcomes in a moment. She had prepared this flax herself, tended to the dyes and set the charms that worked the spindles. There were to be five new students this fall, and the money she could earn selling this thread and her magically-embroidered fabrics to wealthy Muggle noblewomen would feed those students, perhaps even put shoes on the poorer children's feet. Muggle vanity had fed more than a few wizarding children, although their pious souls did not need to know that.

It was Helga alone who stayed in Hogwarts castle as steward year-round, while Gryffindor, Slytherin and Ravenclaw tended to duties elsewhere. She oversaw the gardens, the feeding of the staff, housed visitors and continued production on goods for sale and barter in the nearby wizard and Muggle villages. Leave the intrigues of the outside world to the others, she was known to say over a warm bowl of soup, and I'll take care of home.

But now, she thought as she watched the spinning yarn that surrounded her, now her ducks were home. Godric, with his booming voice and mighty arm, had arrived three days before; Salazar, the very next evening. It was Rowena, dear Rowena of the dark eyes and keen mind, who took longest to return from her daring jaunts into the outer world.

"Mistress Helga," Maeve was at the door. She stood only to Helga's shoulder, thick and dark-skinned, a peasant-born Muggle witch who sometimes helped with the gardens in return for lessons in potions and herb lore. "The riders have arrived safely, with not a scratch on them, blessed be, and the kitchens are just getting done with the evening meal."

"Good. Very good." Helga adjusted her veil, tugging gently at the fabric that formed an oval around her face as she surveyed the room. "Call Brigid and Eleanor back from the south hill. They are gathering wild herbs, and I do not wish to have to explain to Sir Salazar why we needed to reopen the gates should they be locked out."

The girl made a quick bow and hurried from the room, leaving Helga rubbing her hands. Rowena's party had returned almost a fortnight after they'd been expected. No owls had arrived, and there had been hushed talk in the corridors and in the keep of what pitfalls may have delayed their return. It was a relief to know she had arrived safely; while Helga had more faith in the Ravenclaw's ingenuity than anyone else's, even a magical party faced dangers on the roads in these dark times.

She found, quite suddenly, that she could not concentrate on her work. The spindles gazed at her like a colorful tribe of drunken faeries, spinning and dancing of their own accord.

They would be fine without her, she decided. "Done is done," she pronounced to no one in particular, and turned towards the room she shared with Rowena. "Let us see what the outside world has to say."

"Careful, girl," was the first thing she heard when she arrived in their chamber. Helga found Rowena wincing, her man's clothing filthy and half-removed as she scolded the girl who'd come to help her with her wash. Rowena still wore the charm that made her appear male to the eye, smooth-chinned as a sign of nobility, but still allowing her to travel without harm in the Muggle world. She looked up as Helga entered the room, and smiled. "Ah, good lady Hufflepuff!" She winced as the girl fumbled with the man's tunic she wore, pulling it roughly over her head. "Save me from this clumsy child, dear Helga," she pleaded, and Helga smiled as she dismissed the young woman.

"Disagreeable after your long journey, my Rowena," she teased, pulling the tunic easily over Rowena's head to reveal the thick linen shirt she wore underneath. To all extents, Rowena seemed a slight man, healthy but not thickly built, and of good bearing and high birth.

"Suffering fools has been my life for the past three fortnights," she groused, warming herself at the fire that burned in the center of the room. "Accio bowl," she said, waving her wand to the bowl that stood in the far corner of the room. It had been filled, each morning prior to her arrival, with clean water and sweet oils, so that she could wash when she arrived. Two weeks' worth of oils, marking the days she waited for her Rowena to return. A small sacrifice Helga made gladly for her dear friend.

"And how is Rome?" she asked, pulling a twig from Rowena's hair. It had somehow managed to bypass the hat she wore for traveling and had lodged itself in her long, thick raven locks.

"Rome is mad, as usual." She grimaced, stopping her tirade for a moment to notice her friend. "Brother Raphael sends his regards," she added, trailing a dirty finger down the length of Helga's cowl. "Gregory, it seems, has removed the antipope and is happily reinstated in the Vatican, where he can destroy his enemies in luxury."

"Such joy is the Muggle world," Helga clasped the hand in both of hers. "Have you news? Any news to help with our cause?"

Rowena frowned, squeezing Helga's hand in hers. "Not now, dear one. After tonight's feast, I am sure Godric and Salazar will have news from their travels as well. We will talk of the world then." With a quick kiss to her friend's fingers, she added, "Right now, all I wish is to clean myself and remove this forsaken charm." She motioned to her masculine image. "It will be nice, again, to be myself."

"And it is that self," Helga murmured, "That I have missed most particularly, my lady." A moment passed quietly between, a familiar moment of warmth and love that had marked each new term together. Helga dipped her fingers in the bowl of water; the fire had already begun to warm it, and the rose and lavender oils were beginning to release a sweet scent to the air around them. "Accio cloth," she whispered, not taking her eyes from Rowena. It flew to her outstretched fingers, and Helga dipped it into the scented water, gently wiping the grime from Rowena's cheeks, forehead, nose, and chin.

Rowena smiled tiredly, embracing her friend in a slow, warm hug. "Help me remove this charm, dear one, and we go to supper as sisters once more."

_"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy." -- Professor Binns, Chamber of Secrets _

"The Muggle king is bankrupting the Britains," Godric boomed over the argument that ensued. "His weakness is an invitation to the invading Danes; instead of fighting them back, he pays tribute."

"Are our walls to be breached merely to make up for the mistakes of a Muggle king?" Salazar returned. His eyes flashed with the old arguments, and for the first time, Rowena was ready to admit he might be right. "Yes, friend Godric, it is bad for the Muggles, but is it our duty to play nursemaid to barbarians while our own young require education we can scarcely afford?"

"Is it fair to call them barbarians, Salazar?" Helga interrupted, her voice round and full with mead. "After all, the Mosque in Cordoba has over 500,000 volumes, and this is without magic. The Danes are farmers and merchants--"

"Who like to spend their springs adventuring in the south, looting and pillaging?" Salazar bit into another hunk of venison, shaking his head. "Even if it were our duty, it is too much of a risk. What would Aethelred do if he were to discover a school of magic within his realm? Conquer or conscript, that's what he'd do."

"Our walls are unbreachable," Godric reminded. "The charms protecting this place are among the best magic available."

"Even with apparation," Helga said, ignoring several snorts around the table, "No one, wizard or Muggle, would find this place unless we so desired it."

"Oh, yes," Salazar chuckled. "Anyone else apparate into the castle walls this summer, dear Helga?"

Rowena frowned, shooting hard darting glances at Slytherin from her place next to Hufflepuff. "Mock if you will, Salazar, but I was able to travel much farther this year by apparating than anyone--"

"We are losing the thread of this debate," Godric said from his place before the red and tan banner of his house. "I believe Salazar overestimates the danger of discovery to be had by admitting Muggle students. And even if there is a risk, it is small compared to the need to train Muggles born with magical powers. We all know what happens to them if they are left untrained."

Rowena sighed. She had seen this too often in her travels, knew of it from her own childhood in the glen. "If they are rich, they are hidden away. If they are poor…"

"The poor always suffer, Rowena," Slytherin reminded. "It is not our place to save the poor. Leave them to the monks. Isn't that what their doctrine teaches? Charity?"

"If they are poor," Helga picked up the thread, her eyes flashing, "They are tortured, stripped of what little they have, and killed. Many of those killed as witches are not even magical, just odd. But who are we to deny a magical child the chance to live and grow if we can provide that chance to them?"

"Here, here!" clapped Godric, his mouth filled with mead.

"And what if one of these Muggle nobles decides to fight his enemies with magic, using talents learned from us?" Salazar countered. "They cannot be trusted, and we are under no obligation to save them from their own barbarism."

Rowena could see Helga fuming in the candle light. She knew already that her friend sided with Godric on the issue of Muggle admission to Hogwarts, a source of great discord amongst the founders. Only Rowena herself remained undecided on the matter. She wanted to side with her friend, to show mercy and kindness to those of Muggle birth who had magical ability. In her mind, anyone with the aptitude for magic should be allowed to study. Rowena dawdled over her heavy dark bread, a strand of her restored long hair falling over her shoulder as she listened to the familiar argument drone on.

Maybe she was more tired than she'd thought. The words, her beloved words, just sounded like jumbles of noise in her ears. Helga's voice, sweet and rustic, like apple wine, was the only one that connected. Godric and Salazar, old boars that they were, seemed no more than dueling animal grunts, as meaningless and unimportant to her weary mind as the growling dogs scuttling for tossed bones under the table at her feet.

Were it up to her, she'd simply retire to her bed, collapse onto the thick mattress stuffed with sweet-smelling straw, pull the thick woolen blanket over her head, and forget about this controversy. But she had to deliver the news Brother Raphael had given her, and deliver it she would.

"There is another thing to be considered," she said quietly. Perhaps it was the very quietness of her tone that captured the others' attention, for the arguments halted almost immediately and all eyes turned to her. "Brother Raphael, a monk who has sympathies with the wizarding world due to his sister's abilities, has told me of a growing fear amongst the religious thinkers in Rome. Within a few years, the Muggles will mark the one thousandth anniversary of the birth of their Christ King, and many of the Church philosophers believe it to be a time for the realization of a great and terrible prophecy."

"Their Apocolypse?" Salazar said, stroking his chin. "Let their Savior return and be done with them," he shrugged. "What matter is this to us?"

"The book of prophecies is dark and strange, even for Muggle religion, and there is a growing fear that the end times are among them. Already forests are being cut with alarming speed, and churches erected to house those who would be among the chosen," Rowena said darkly.

Godric leaned forward, ignoring the gravy that stained the elbows of his tunic. "Certainly you do not fear this Muggle prophecy, sister," he asked.

"I fear more those Muggle who believe this prophecy." She looked around her. "Look to your scrolls, brothers and sister, look to the stars. The skies are full of portent, and with rising fear amongst the Muggles, they will be looking for someone to blame. For every failed crop, every shattering storm, for every child born still and cold from its mother's womb, they will be looking for someone to blame."

"Blame the witch," Helga muttered darkly. "Always blame the witch."

"This is madness," Salazar retorted. "This does not concern us. And any Muggle born with true magical power will be safe from their blame."

"But what of the Muggle mother with no magic, who produces a magical child," Helga countered fiercely. "What of the hovels that will be burned, the torture and banishment? Do you know what becomes of a Muggle who is thought to be a witch?"

"And will you feed these poor children, Helga? Will you feed their filthy mothers, and dirty siblings?" Salazar's voice was cutting and hard. "We are not a charity. We are a school, and a struggling school at that. Only students born of wizarding families, and no more. We are not in the business of fighting for Muggles, only of educating our own youth."

"Rowena," Godric said gently. "You are the only one of us who has not made a firm plea either way on this subject. Will you join with Helga and myself in championing the right for all students, regardless of family, to have a magical education? Or will you side with our brother in rejecting those of Muggle birth, merely for the crime of having non-magical parents?"

Oh, good Gryffindor, Rowena thought somewhat unkindly. No need to seek out the prelates when a Gryffindor can provide guilt enough for a dozen confessionals. "I will not give my answer until we come together to officially vote," she said, ignoring the disappointed look in Helga's eyes. "There is much to think about, and many factors to consider," she added. "But I promise, by this time tomorrow night, you shall have my answer."

"It never gets warm here," Rowena groused as she folded the tunic and hurried naked into the bed she shared with Helga. There was enough light from the embers of the fire to see the outline of her form, and Helga once again appreciated the fine figure her friend Ravenclaw cut. Modest stature, curved but lean, soft but not padded, with hair that seemed only more radiant in the somber glow of their room. Helga resisted the urge to whisper "lumos," to give herself more opportunity to admire her friend closely for the first time in months.

She'd known Rowena longer than she could remember, had loved her almost as long. Both had married young, as was the custom, and had produced enough children between them to satisfy convention. But neither had mourned too terribly when the land skirmishes with the Frankish wizards had made them early widows, and neither had bothered to find replacements for their dead husbands once freed from their arranged marriages by circumstance.

Widowhood, they had found, had its advantages. Sisterhood also has its advantages, Helga thought gratefully as she curved her body against Rowena's slender back, instantly achieving a comfortable warmth and tenderness. She placed a soft kiss on Rowena's shoulders, whispering a gentle endearment into the braided locks that rested there.

Rowena's body seemed to relax as they breathed together. It often took a few nights for her to return to herself after these travels. She loved it, Helga knew, loved the opportunity to see new sights and meet philosophers and wizards and men of ideas both here and abroad. But she hated having to leave her behind, and she hated even more the Muggle convention against women that forced the gender charms she wore when out in the world.

No, it would take a few days of steady meals and good sleep in a warm bed, a few days surrounded by her beloved scrolls, before Rowena had settled back into the happy routine of study and teaching. She was the true educator here, the philosopher witch, happiest when lost in that magical world of words and ideas.

Helga kissed her again, and Rowena pushed backwards, crossing her arms over her chest to clasp Helga's hands in hers. They lay there quietly for a while, wrapped in each other, returning to the familiar through the physical senses of touch and scent and, occasionally, taste. It was good to feel her again. Helga could feel her spirits lifting, buoyed by the lightness of Rowena's intellect. No doubt, Rowena could already feel herself being grounded, steadied as she always was by Helga's own earthy nature, by the pull of roots and herbs and soil and homely things.

They were good together; they had always been. Now, though, more than ever, Helga felt the differences between them. Rowena was not, could not, be driven by the heart in such matters as the Muggle issue. It was as if the ethers in her mind were tossed in a torrent, a wild tornado of conflicting points each vying for control of that amazing intellect.

Sometimes, when she could feel the conflict, the struggle her sister endured to arrive at a conclusion Helga herself found painfully obvious, she almost felt sorry for Rowena. "Calm your thoughts, dearest one," she urged, rocking gently with Rowena in her arms. Their bodies fit together like a glove, suitable and familiar and correct. "You will make the correct decision. You always do."

"I am tired from my journey," she murmured, as if that were the only reason behind the tension of her muscles, the worried looks she'd cast across the table at dinner. "Too much apparating makes my head hurt, still."

"You will refine the procedure no doubt. I foresee a day when all wizards apparate whenever they choose."

Rowena groaned. "And we will have children popping in, half-formed, through castle walls. As Salazar took great pleasure in reminding us."

"Perhaps children should not be allowed to apparate," Helga agreed. "But that is not the subject that torments your mind, is it now, sister?"

"What if he is right? What is a Muggle wizard, trained by us, fed and housed and clothed by us, eventually betrays us? For profit or salvation, it matters not."

Helga drew in a long breath, brushing her lips across the curve of Rowena's braid. It was a fear they all worried. The Muggle fear of magic seemed surpassed only by their ignorance and brutality. But still, was it fair to deny all Muggle-born wizards and witches a right to study for fear of what one or two might do? "You must look to your own counsel, dear one. You have seen more of the Muggle world than I have; perhaps I am wrong to trust that they will use what we teach for their own betterment."

"How many Muggle-born witches have been pushed aside by our own kind?"

"For their own lack of control, and for their fear and ignorance," Helga argued. "If they were taught properly, as other magical children are, to control their talents, to use them in safe and appropriate ways, then they would be accepted in our world, of course."

Rowena pulled away, rolling to face her, wrapping her arms around and drawing her in close enough to rest her chin on Helga's shoulder. Her breathing was deep and slow, and her breasts felt warm against Helga's chest. "Your goodness knows no parallel, my sweet one," she sighed into Helga's skin, "But you do not understand the ways of people. Teaching these Muggles, I fear, might make them outcasts in both worlds. How could they return to their own people, see so much poverty and ignorance, and i not /I use their powers to help those they love? Every bit of magic used amongst Muggles is a danger to us, either of exposure or of betrayal. On the other hand, if they are to make a life within our own world, what resentments will arise in their hearts knowing they will never be considered much more than intelligent animals by many of our kind?" Rowena brushed her lips softly against Helga's, a sad sweet gesture tonight, tinted perhaps by the Ravenclaw's own dark mood. "No, the life of a Muggle will always be a struggle, at least in our lifetimes."

"Than we must do what we can to help those among them born with the talent to rise above," Helga urged, her lips still pressed against Rowena's cheek. "You yourself have stated that anyone with talent deserves to study. It is largely through your efforts, my sweet one, that Godric and Salazar were convinced to accept girl students. Your example is a beacon in the night, and your support of Muggle-born wizards and witches would go far in helping our kind accept them." She gasped as she felt Rowena's hands in the small of her back, fingernails scraping against her backbone in a gesture of subtle encouragement. Helga had to laugh. "But this debate grows cold in your mind, I see." She kissed the cheek that faced her, tracing a path up the curve of the cheekbone to the corner of Rowena's left eye, flicking her tongue against the dark-haired woman's temple. "You are tired," she reminded.

"I am never too tired for our rituals," corrected Rowena, who had slid her hands down to cup her friend's backside, drawing their lower bodies closer together. Helga reveled in the nearness, so dearly missed in the last few months, and let the argument drop. It would be resolved in the Rowena's own time, with or without influence from her.

But this need, this ritual they had shared for most of their adult life? That could not wait. She kissed Rowena, as they had that first time they'd been together as women, and smoothed both hands down over her lover's hair, framing her face as she deepened the kiss. The rush of joy in her heart and body seemed overwhelming. Whatever the confusion, the hardship, the struggle they faced, things always felt better when they were together.

Helga pulled her friend closer until their bodies were pressed tightly into each other, soft moans escaping her throat as Rowena's fingers dug into the soft flesh of her backside. She bucked slightly, pushing her pelvis forward against Rowena's slimmer figure. It was bliss, this connection, this sacred thing they shared.

Rowena had once told her, after one of her journeys, as they lay molded together in contentment, exactly what the Roman priests would do to Muggle women who loved in this fashion. She had never been so grateful to be a witch as she'd been that night, Helga remembered, and they'd loved again just to celebrate that they were not of the Roman church.

But tonight Rowena seemed heavy, burdened by the choice she had yet to make about the school's future. They both knew that Slytherin might leave the school if Muggles were admitted, and the loss of the students loyal to him might bankrupt Hogwarts. Her struggles with conscience and sensibility found their nest in the slow movements of her hand, in the awkwardness they experienced trying to fit together, in the sharpness of her frustration as she pulled away, angry and irritable as they struggled with an act that was usually flawless and graceful between them.

"Go to sleep," Rowena sighed into the blanket as she rolled away from Helga, finally giving in to the realization that their lovemaking would not go well this night. "Just go to sleep."

Helga felt the sting in her tone, deflected it somehow, and moved close to enfold the worried woman in her arms. "My darling one," she cooed into Rowena's ears as she rocked her steadily, bosom pressed into back, soft fleshy arms embracing slender ones. Soon enough, she could feel Rowena's body lose the tension, heard the murmured, wordless apology. "All will be as it shall be, my beauty," she breathed, pouring her love into Rowena as she might pour wine into a cup, easily, generously, with abandon. "All will be as it shall be."

And they slept, finally, still wrapped in each other's arms, their bodies warm against the chill of the castle night.

It was just before sunrise when she awoke. Already the castle was bustling, for with her return, the preparations for the new school term would begin in earnest. Helga had gone to empty the chamber pot. She'd awakened first, as she normally did, and kept her silence so that Rowena could steal as much rest from the dying night as possible.

Rowena held herself tightly against the morning chill, watching the activity in the courtyard through the tiny window in their chambers. Several of the older students were dragging themselves through their chores, making their rounds in torpid silence as they fed and watered the livestock. The children themselves were round and decently fed. From this distance, she could not tell which of them was Muggle-born, and which came from all-wizard family.

From this view, they were just children.

She knew, even without conscious consideration, what her choice would be. She could not allow fear or suspicion to cloud her reason; nor could she allow callow prejudices to corrupt her mercy.

"You're awake," came the voice behind her, and Helga was at her side, warm and real and welcome in the gloomy pre-dawn light.

"Yes," she murmured sleepily. "Another year begins."

Helga wrapped her arms around her, rocking her slightly as they watched the scene below together. "You've made your choice." It was a simple statement, uttered without question or commentary.

Rowena nodded slowly, not taking her eyes from the children below.

Their wards. Their future.

"Salazar will leave Hogwarts," she stated bluntly. "I know him. We'll be lucky if it doesn't come to blades between those two."

"And Hogwarts will survive." Helga hugged her fiercely, protectively. "Hogwarts i will /i survive, sweet Athena."

Rowena chuckled, squeezing her fingers tightly around the arms that held her from behind. "You see only the light, dear Hestia, but I will have faith in your optimism." She nodded to the courtyard, and to the lands surrounding the castles, as if the very act of acknowledging them would somehow preserve them for harm. "Hogwarts will survive, if at least for one year."

"For many years to come," Helga corrected. "Trust in what we have created here, my bright eyed one. It will last."

Rowena turned to face her lover head on. The sun had risen finally over the courtyard wall, and a tiny sliver of golden light was illuminating her face. And for a moment, for the slightest moment, she believed her. She believed, if only for that sunlit moment of faith, that what they had built would last, beyond their lives, maybe even for a couple of generations. "All will be as it shall be," she whispered, placing a tender kiss on Helga's lips before turning to face the day, and the destiny it would bring about.


End file.
